


dinner and a show

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Character Study, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Multi, Necromancy, Pre-Canon, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: If the crowds were dazzled by the shine of her sister's cascading curls and her smooth, bronze skin, or too busy swooning over Babs in his gorgeously tailored gold and iris suit, they weren't really paying attention toher.And that suited Ianthe just fine.
Relationships: Naberius Tern/Coronabeth Tridentarius/Ianthe Tridentarius
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	dinner and a show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookedspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/gifts).



Ianthe smoothed down the crinkled champagne pleats in her lap as she was seated at the dinner table, beside an older woman in a gold gilded feather corset and matching mask, and surrounded by an array of appetizers on glittering golden platters. (The Third House simply did not believe in silver, dull and washed-out as it was in comparison, and porcelain had been a non-starter since the Bone China Incident, as it had come to be known.) The centrepiece was a polished candelabra, adorned with strings of purple agate beads, beneath a gigantic crystal chandelier, shimmering from every angle. 

In short, it was gaudy as hell.

Corona, of course, shone brighter than any jewel, flimsy gold fabric clinging to her bronze-toned skin. Her dress was not too dissimilar to Ianthe's own, save for the plunging neckline and high-cut thigh slit, and Corona either hadn't noticed that one of her nipples had slipped out, or she didn't care. Given the slight chill in the air, Ianthe assumed it was the latter. Their guests would dance around her like moths to a flame, without realising that it wasn't fire they played with, but lightning. 

That suited Ianthe just fine. If the crowds were dazzled by the shine of her sister's cascading curls and her smooth, bronze skin, or too busy swooning over Babs in his gorgeously tailored gold and iris suit, they weren't really paying attention to her. They looked, but they did not scrutinize. They saw her bloodless lips, but not the tiny pearls of blood that oozed just beneath her hairline, barely visible above her amethyst mask, studded with its own matching milky-white pearls. Performing necromancy for two was no small task, and parties such as this were a grand opportunity for the guests attending the House of the Shining Dead to witness the true majesty of their princesses. Well, Ianthe's, really, although she would happily admit that Corona was in possession of a majesty entirely her own. She was the perfect, blinding light, tempered by the soft edges of Ianthe's shadow.

Then there was Babs, seated between them as usual, close enough for Ianthe to smirk as she watched his hand slip beneath the slit in Corona's dress. Naturally, he'd first removed his pale gold gloves for fear of staining them, and not with white wine. Ianthe sipped her own drink, the gold-encrusted rim of the glass bumping against her mask. Corona, somehow, managed to converse and drink gracefully from her own, even with Babs' thrusting his fingers inside her. Whether that was a testament to her superior concentration or his inferior skills remained to be seen, but Ianthe fancied that  _ she _ would at least have been able to cause Corona's breath to hitch in her throat...and that was  _ without  _ using necromancy. 

Ianthe scanned the room for familiar faces, or half-faces, she supposed. She despised masquerades. But then, she despised a lot of things that a princess of Ida ought to love. Corona had not a necromantic bone in her body, but she embodied the virtues of the Third House enough for both of them, while Ianthe possessed all the bones of value. They made it work.

But Babs, no doubt thinking himself terribly clever, had (on more than one occasion) suggested that she might have been more at home among the more bookish necromancers in the orbital Library of the Sixth. Ianthe would not deny the appeal of having that volume of esoteric knowledge within her grasp, but her place was at Corona's side. They'd made the choice to present themselves as a (mis)matching set some time ago, and Ianthe had no regrets. 

Corona's regrets were more immediate, no doubt related to the awkward angles of poor old Babs' fingers. His memory wasn't so awful that he was prone to forgetting good technique - his swordplay left no doubts about that - but his problem, Ianthe had quickly realised, was that he liked to show off everything he'd learned with fancy footwork. (Or, in this case, fingerwork.) It wasn't his fault that he didn't know Corona's body as Ianthe did, as only Ianthe could, but it frustrated her almost as much as it frustrated Corona. She turned to him, discreetly.

"I'm going to need a hand, Babs. I'm feeling rather  _ drained, _ you see. I hadn't expected to raise quite so many skeletons before dinner."

"Now?"

"Yes,  _ now. _ That's why I'm asking." He offered her his right hand, without question. One hand for each princess probably seemed fair to him, and yet, time and time again, each princess demanded more of him than he could possibly give. 

"No. Your other hand." Ianthe smiled blandly, ignoring Corona's pout. Reluctantly, and with even more pouting, Babs withdrew his hand, offering it to Ianthe. "Why,  _ thank you, _ Babs," she said, and took his hand in hers before bringing it to her lips. Ianthe didn't break eye contact with Corona as she kissed his long fingers, slick with her taste, and bit off the two fingernails that had been inside her. Babs winced, but he was blessed with strong and healthy bones, as any Third cavalier ought to be. Ianthe left his fingertips red and raw, but no blood was drawn, and the nails would grow back soon enough. 

Of course, she could have simply drawn her thanergy from any one of the skeletons she'd reanimated, but where was the fun in that? It was always more amusing to witness the look on Babs' face at the precise moment Corona batted his hand away beneath the table. Ianthe would make sure that her sister's appetite didn't go unsated but if, in the meantime, she took out her frustrations on Babs, then that was all the better. No one could complain with dinner  _ and  _ a show.

And so she licked her lips, like a cat that'd come upon far more than just the cream. For the only thing that tasted sweeter than her sister was the surge of necromantic power that coursed through her blood and her bones.


End file.
